It's the Thought That Counts
by Dublinscot
Summary: Rick is puzzled by a late-night mystery.


It's the Thought That Counts

It was the smell that woke him. A pungent, sickly odor that would stick with him for the rest of the day. Inhaling deeply as he forced himself to wake up, Rick struggled not to choke and cough as the foul smell invaded his nostrils and his being. What was it? It smelled like a combination of sweat and dirt and walker innards mixed with something he couldn't put his finger on. All he knew was that it was horrible and it was slowly but surely wafting through the house.

Casting his eyes around the room, he took in the darkness just beginning to give way to light. Still early then. Having no desire to get up, but knowing he needed to investigate, the deputy pushed the covers down and sat up. A quick inhalation reminded him of his quest and he almost subconsciously tried to hold his breath so he wouldn't have to smell the fetid odor again. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he forced himself to his feet and began to make his way downstairs slowly.

As he approached the living room, the horrible smell became even stronger. Walking into the quiet room slowly, he let his eyes adjust to the dimness, gradually realizing that the fireplace was lit, its flames casting a soft glow over the room. Pausing to admire the view, an unexpected draft of air caused the suddenly overwhelming smell that had brought him down here in the first place to drift towards him, invading his nostrils once again.

Following his nose further into the room and over to the fireplace, Rick was perplexed, recognizing with puzzlement what he realized was the source of the foul stench—a dirty sock hanging from the mantle. What? Looking closely he realized that it must have once been white but now was more grayish black than anything. In fact it looked like the dirt and other assorted materials were actually holding the nasty thing together. And the stench was overpowering. Making his way closer to the fireplace and the offending article of clothing, he continued to puzzle over why it was hanging there in the first place. Had it missed its way into the weekly laundry? And why was it hanging in a decidedly misshapen way?

Holding his breath, he stood in front of the disgusting item and debated whether or not he should actually touch it to see what—if anything—was inside. Noticing a napkin that had been left on the coffee table, he snatched it up and reached out to touch the nasty thing. Yes, there was something in there. Reaching in slowly and carefully, he realized there were actually two things nestled in the bottom of the filthy footwear. Grasping hold of them with the napkin in his hand, he pulled them out and stared at them in confusion. What the heck?

His brow furrowed in confused concentration, Rick tried to figure out why a dirty orange and a piece of coal were thrown into the bottom of a filthy sock. Because that was, indeed, what he was holding in his hand. What must have once been a plump, juicy orange, but was now the better side of ripe. Hints of the color orange peeked through the grimy black of coal dust which coated the entire thing. And then there was the coal. Just a lump of coal. What the heck was going on?

So intent was he on the items in his hand and the situation itself that he didn't hear the quiet footsteps behind him. Didn't notice that he was no longer alone in the room. If he was outside the walls of Alexandria he would have been dead. Luckily he was safe in his living room and it was okay to let his guard down. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he shook his head in puzzlement, even as he avoided taking another deep breath. In fact, he tried to avoid inhaling altogether but realized that that was something he just could not avoid. Lifting his confused gaze to the offending stocking he stared at it as if the answer to his unasked question would suddenly reveal itself—what are you doing here and why are you hanging from the mantle?

His reverie was interrupted by the quiet voice behind him, the sudden sound interrupting the silence of the room causing him to jump in spite of himself.

"Merry Christmas!"

Smiling to himself he turned. Daryl. Gazing at his friend he took in the almost fearful expression on his face. He'd heard it in his voice as well, that almost timid, unsure quality that caused his heart to melt each time he caught it.

Inclining his head towards the hearth, he asked quietly, "Did you do this?"

A quick nod was his response. The hunter seemed almost afraid of his reaction. But Rick needed to know.

"Why? What's going on?"

Ducking his head and peering up through the overgrown hair shielding his eyes, Daryl shrugged.

"It's Christmas is all. Figured you could use a pick me up."

Catching another whiff of the pungent odor, Rick did his best to inhale quickly while not being obvious about it. Still unsure of why his friend would hang one of his dirty socks—filled with soon to be rotting fruit and a lump of coal no less—by the fire, he knew he had to tread carefully so as not to hurt the other man's feelings. Knowing Daryl, Rick realized he would have had a good reason for his actions.

Gesturing towards the sock, Rick tried to be diplomatic.

"So you hung one of your socks in front of the fire? And put fruit and coal in it?"

A hesitant nod was his answer, along with those eyes, hesitant and hopeful, looking at him through that shaggy hair. Gazing at him with an intensity that reinforced to Rick he needed to step carefully here to spare his friend's feelings.

"Thank-you?"

Quiet for a moment, looking at his friend as if he was afraid of his response, Daryl seemed to come to a decision and plunged on, shrugging his shoulder slightly as he began to speak in his quiet, hesitant voice.

"It ain't nothin'. And I don't know if I did it right. Hope I did. I ain't never had a Christmas of my own but I used to hear things. I remember when I was little the other kids talked about hangin' their stockings by the fire and how they'd wake up on Christmas mornin' and find them filled with things. I recollect readin' in a book once about people getting' fruit in them. Course now that I think about it that was a hundred and fifty years ago and it was out on the prairie, but I figure if it worked then it can work now. And kids used to tell me I was goin' to get coal in my stocking because I was a Dixon. Course they didn't realize that Dixons didn't celebrate Christmas. But I figured that must be a popular gift. I remembered that and found some for you. I don't know what the coal's for, but figured you would since you's had a lot of Christmases. So…Merry Christmas."

Seeming to run out of steam after his rush of words, quite unusual for him, the hunter ducked his head once more, seemingly waiting for his friend's reaction. And it wasn't long in coming.

Hearing his friend's words and understanding the intentions behind his "surprise", Rick vowed to himself to say nothing about the disgusting footwear and the pungent smell wafting through the room—the house—as a result. The sheriff felt himself overcome with a swell of emotion at Daryl's speech—and the meaning behind his words and actions. Realizing that his friend had never celebrated Christmas and so had no basis from which to start, the sheriff suddenly understood. Lifting his gaze to meet the hunter's questioning blue eyes, Rick smiled. Glancing down at the hand holding his "gifts" his smile grew even wider.

"Daryl, I can't believe you did this. It was so…thoughtful of you. This," gesturing behind him to the fireplace and waving the orange and coal in front of him, "means the world to me. I can't believe you went to all this trouble just for me."

Ducking his head again, perhaps in embarrassment, the hunter shrugged.

"Told ya. Ain't nothin'."

"Yes it is. It is somethin'. You went out of your way to do this, to think about me." Seeing the hesitant smile forming on his friend's face, the sheriff plunged on. "It must have been really hard finding fruit this time of year, but you did it. I don't even want to think how long it must have taken you. And the coal, who knows where you got that."

Stepping forward until he was right in front of his friend, Rick looked him directly in the eyes. Shaking his head slowly and continuing to smile, he continued.

"Just…thank you," he said, his smile threatening to overtake his face.

The room was plunged into silence once again, save for the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. As one of the logs shifted, sending sparks shooting outward and flames rising upward, Rick caught a trace of the nearly overpowering scent coming from the still-hanging sock. His smile widened even further as an idea—and a solution—popped into his mind.

Dampening the smile somewhat, he kept his gaze locked on that of his friend.

"Um…Daryl…there's just one thing."

The faint change in expression on his friend's face told Rick that the hunter was waiting for him to continue, but that he was fearful of what the sheriff would have to say.

"Well…the thing is…"

Rick floundered for a moment, trying to figure out how best to put this.

"Well…you did this wonderful thing for me. Christmas! You gave me Christmas. In this world that's somethin. A reminder of what used to be-and that we can still have some goodness in our lives and in this world. And I appreciate it so much! But…you see…I don't want the others to feel bad when they find out. I don't want their feelings to be hurt…"

Seeing the realization dawn on his friend's face, Rick knew Daryl understood. He watched as the hunter dropped his gaze for a moment and shook his head, appearing to think things over. Before his friend could say anything, Rick rushed on.

"Would it be alright if we moved the stocking outside? Just so the others don't see it and feel bad?" Holding the orange and coal up he continued, "I'll tuck these away upstairs. No one will have to know. Except me, of course."

Clutching his gifts and holding his breath, Rick waiting for his friend to respond. As always, Daryl, in his quiet way, made his thoughts clear.

Nodding slightly, the hunter replied, "Yeah. That makes sense. Don't want to hurt nobody."

Sighing with relief and turning to remove the offending footwear from its place on the mantle, Rick tried to smother the smile that was once again threatening to overtake his face. Success! Even as he reached to grasp the least filthy part of the sock in order to take it down, Rick realized that his smile wasn't just the result of getting the sock out of the house and making the air breathable again. No, he was truly touched by the thoughtfulness of his outwardly gruff friend. His friend who, though he had never celebrated Christmas himself, was still thoughtful enough to think of him and want to give him this day. A friend who went out of his way to find special gifts, such as they were, just for him. It didn't matter that Daryl was completely clueless when it came to celebrating the holiday. It was truly the thought that counted.

Holding a corner of the filthy sock with his fingertips and his gifts in his other hand, Rick looked back at his friend, who was still waiting quietly. Nudging him with his shoulder, the sheriff inclined his head towards the door.

"Come on, Daryl. Let's go look at the stars and get some fresh air."

Nodding silently, the hunter followed his friend, oblivious to the trail of coal dust left on the pristine white door as he exited.


End file.
